


Usurper

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson has control issues, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, POV Phil Coulson, Resolved Sexual Tension, Skye and her true nature, Unresolved Sexual Tension, body issues, mentions of Skye's father, yes i have a bone to pick with fandom here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2528801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson wants to know why Skye's father might want to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Usurper

She looks at his attire. He hasn't put his jacket back on again. She just waltzes into his office, and she doesn't need a excuse these days. Coulson likes that. He wants her here all the time, he has discovered.

"What's that smell?" Skye asks.

"I've been painting the wall. From last time."

"I don't think you should paint it _yourself_ ," Skye says with a grimace.

"I can ask May to shoot me in the head, somehow I can't ask her to paint my wall."

It's not – it's not really a joke. He feels like that.

Skye blinks. Perhaps he shouldn't bring that up with her.

"I could paint it, I guess," she says, trying to be helpful, but reluctant. She is not scared by the symbols. That shocked him at first, and then he realized it comforted him too, in a way. He had tried to think of the carvings as something he actually does. He has tried to pretend it was happening to another person. But Skye seems to accept it. She asks about it – about how he feels when it happens, about the fact that it's happening more often, about their theories.

It helps, surprisingly.

"Plus, I think you're still a bit shaken," she comments, remembering the morning's proceedings. "I don't think you should be doing that kind of stuff."

"I'm tired," he says.

He sits down on the floor, feels a strange compulsion to. He brushes his fingertips across the floor surface, something inside him clicking and telling him it would be a nice place to carve. So far he has managed not to listen to that stuff.

"You okay?" Skye asks, because it's not really normal, the Director of SHIELD suddenly sitting on the floor next to his desk, like it's completely natural.

"Mostly," he says.

He's not lying. He won't lie to her again. And things are – not exactly getting better, but he feels a bit better about things getting worse. He is a little less scared these days.

He leans back against the desk. Skye walks to him, sits on the floor as well, right next to him. After so many months of distance they have only been growing close these past few weeks. Exactly how close Coulson is not completely sure. He wants to prode, but he's not sure how to go about it. He fears he might be mistaking all her gestures of affection for something else.

They must make a strange image, right now. The Director of SHIELD and one of his agents sitting on the floor, resting against the desk, like they are commiserating about something. He doesn't know what the image means. He wants to. For the first time he feels like he wants to. Maybe he should ask.

"I'm sorry about what happened," Skye tells him.

"Nothing bad happened to the team," Coulson reminds her.

"Yeah, but – he is scary."

"Yes, he is," he agrees. Coulson is not scared, but he admits Skye's father is sort of spooky. Specially now that they have seen him in action. He can only guess what Skye must be feeling about that. "But it's not your fault."

"That my father wants to kill you? I think it's a bit my fault," she replies, kind of hopelessly. Coulson can see the weight of that bearing down on her shoulders.

"You're not responsible for what he does or says," he tries to tell her.

She brings her knees to her chest.

"But I'm close to you. And he resents that."

He has been thinking about that ever since.

"Why does he resent it? Why do you think he wants to kill me?" Coulson asks.

"Why? He is insane, Coulson. Who cares about why?"

"But you must have a theory."

Skye always has a theory.

"Well, I don't, because I don't care," she says, getting a bit agitated. "He wants to kill you and that's not happening, that's all I need to think about."

Coulson cocks his head to one side. "Well, thanks. But still? Why me? Just because I'm your boss, your friend?"

"Maybe he thinks you are a bad influence. He doesn't seem to like SHIELD very much. He's a maniac. He's just fixated on you because of – whatever. And I'm very sorry."

But she is deflecting the issue.

There's a question he wants to ask.

He swallows.

"You think he sees me as somehow usurping his role?"

Skye frowns, surprised. "What do you mean, _usurping_?"

"You were taken against his will when you were a baby. Then she finds you and he sees that I'm somehow... filling that space?"

"Like you're my surrogate father or something."

"Maybe," he says. Perhaps he shouldn't bring up the issue. Perhaps it's better not knowing.

Skye looks ahead for a moment.

"Yes. That would make sense," she says, pensive.

He throws his head back, resting it on the desk. He has his answer now. No need to keep on misunderstanding her.

"He would be wrong, of course," Skye adds.

He turns to her. He realizes they are a bit too close. They have been a bit too closed for weeks now, standing next to each other in meetings, lingering in each other's company. But...

"What do you mean?"

They are so close that it really takes very little effort for Skye to lean into him and touch her mouth to his mouth. It's the sweetest thing Coulson has felt in ages, just a light brush of the lips, the briefest insinuation of tongue and a lot of hesitation, a lot of doubt. Skye shouldn't have doubts, not about this. Her hand touches Coulson's leg for a moment and she gets a bit bolder, pressing her mouth harder against him.

She pulls away quickly, searching his eyes for a confirmation that she hasn't made a mistake.

Coulson draws the line of her mouth with his fingers, then tracing over her chin, her cheek, the shape of her ear. Skye leans into it with a lazy smile, evidently enjoying it.

"My father has a _really_ good reason for wanting to kill you," she says. And it's a really bad joke but he loves the way Skye tells it.

He chuckles a bit. Nervous. Some tension has been released, but now he is on the edge of everything else.

He touches her neck, thumbing her collarbone right about her t-shirt.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

It could mean anything, He throws the wall in front of them a look. It's unreasonable, doing this when he is so ill. When they haven't found a clue to stop the process. It's unreasonable and Coulson feels at peace with that. He knows what he is doing. Skye knows what she is doing. He is trying to be completely honest with her, this time.

She covers his hand with hers, keeps it pressed to her bare skin, nodding. "It's fine but..."

"What?" She looks down. "Skye. What is it?"

When she looks up there's this very Skye-like look of resolution in her eyes. He's never seen it this close, though.

"I need you to stop talking about how you want to be put down," she says, punctuacting every word of it.

"Skye..."

"I get it," she says. "I don't want you to think I don't get it. You don't want to become something you are not. You want that choice, and I get why it's important. But I'm – it's really hard for me to hear that."

"Okay."

He looks at her, agreeing – he can do that, he doesn't have to talk about his plans if she doesn't want him to. Skye knows they exist, anyway. She gives him a little nod as well.

"I love you," she tells him. "And I need you to have some hope."

Coulson nods, trying not to get overwhelmed with emotion. It's not easy, he feels completely raw these days, specially when it comes to Skye. And truth be told it's been a long time since anyone has told him that.

She pushes him gently against the desk again, hands on his shoulders and kisses him deeply for a while, the position a bit uncomfortable, with her knee digging into Coulson's leg. He doesn't mind. He opens his mouth under her, giving her complete access. He lets her do what she wants. He is happier this way – letting Skye do what she wants with him.

When she finishes with him – not before running her hand through his hair quite enthusiatically, making sure he looks ridiculous right now – she smirks at him.

"What?" Coulson asks.

"This might not be very smooth of me but... do you want to come down to my bunk?"

"That would seriously piss off your father."

Skye laughs, lacing her fingers with his.

 

 

"Skye?" he calls.

"Mmm, yes?"

They have been kissing for a while now. Slow, exploratory kisses, like they have all the time in the world. He wants that, to have all the time in the world, to act like they have it at least, for her. Maybe he can fake some hope until he gets the real thing.

He puts his hand over her waist, her t-shirt rolling up a bit, he can touch her bare skin. He wants more of that but also – 

"I need – I need to go slow," he tells her.

Skye seems to be finding it hard to stop kissing his neck long enough to reply.

"Yeah, I get it," she says.

Coulson feels a pang of frustration at that. He wraps his fingers around her hip, keeping her grounded.

"No, you don't," he tells her.

She pulls away a bit, so she can look at his eyes. Or rather so he can see hers.

"The GH-325? The symbols? That you are afraid of hurting me? That you don't feel safe in your own body?"

He freezes at the accuracy.

"Okay, you get it," he says, a bit annoyed at her and her perfect reading.

She threads her hand through his hair, saying, "It's okay," repeating it.

He is not sure he believes her. But he doesn't want to stop this.

She holds his head in the palms of her hands for a moment and sniffs his hair.

"You still smell of paint," she says, kissing his temple.

Her hand drops to his tie, undoing it. Then she starts unbuttoning his shirt very slowly. Coulson keeps trying to swallow. It's a complicated mix of fear and anticipation. She slips his shirt off his shoulders carefully, tugging at him so he would shift on the bed for a moment, sit up. He is happy to let her do it. But he is a bit stiff.

"If you are not ready, or you don't want... I can wait."

He kisses her chin, the line of her jaw.

"I want to," he says, a little breathless because Skye's fingers have slipped under his t-shirt. "I want this."

"Me too," she says, smiling a bit wider now. "And I can go slow."

She gestures for him to hundress her as well. Coulson twists his fingers very carefully into the fabric of her t-shirt and pulls experimentaly. He keeps doing that, a bit too slowly, a bit too unconvinced until Skye is naked in front of him. Beautiful enough to make his mouth go dry, to resent her promise of going slow even though he knows that he needs it, he needs to go slow. And suddenly he is also naked and Skye's hand are everywhere and she is taking his hand in hers. She is here with him and she is gorgeous and she is wet for him when Coulson touches her tentatively.

She kisses a line over his scar.

That shouldn't make everything stop the way it does.

"Skye," he breathes out.

"It's okay," she says. "It's okay."

He needed to hear it. Now that he is ready to listen.

He twists his fingers into her hair, closing his eyes. She keeps her promise to go slow, laying little kisses along his ribcage, his stomach, the top of his thigh.

"Sit up," she tells him.

He does, without asking, watching her as she fumbles through her drawer in search of a condom. Coulson has a very Director moment in which he is glad his agents are using protection and then he feels a bit ridiculous for it. He sees himself from outside and it's really baffling.

"Don't drift away," Skye tells him, while she kisses his jaw and rolls the condom over his cock, holding him in a gentle grip. "It's not nice for a girl."

He touches the tips of her hair, letting it fall over her breasts. "No," he says. "I'm here. I'm with you."

Skye smiles, pushing him gently on to his back. She lines up their bodies and it – it just happens. It's happening. In the worst possible moment of his life to do this, Coulson lets it happen, the best possible thing that could happen to him.

He holds his breath when she starts moving above him, around him.

It doesn't matter how slow or careful she is, it was always bound to overwhelm him.

He hides his face under the crook of his elbow.

"You okay?" Skye asks, touching his forearm.

He tries to nod. His voice is damp. "Yeah. Perfect."

Skye grabs him and pushes his arms away from his face, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his eyebrow.

"Too much? Too soon?" she asks.

He smiles. He wasn't really lying. It's perfect. He doesn't know how to – how to convey things. Like he has to relearn his own body in a way. Like it has been wired for other things, not this. Trying to keep everything under control for so long. It has done him no good.

"No, no," he assures her. He wraps his fingers around the back of her neck, bringing her to his mouth. 

I'm here, he thinks.

I'm with you, he thinks.

 

 

She is touching his face, drawing the lines around his mouth with her index. She doesn't look tired or sleepy. To be honest neither does he. Her pillow smells like her. He could be happy spending more time in this room. Skye traces the hint of a scar of an old wound – nothing compared to the scar from Loki's scepter, and he is kind of fascinated that she has found it. She must be paying attention.

"I won't let him hurt you," Skye is saying, her eyes unfocused. "I don't care what I have to do."

He can hear in the statement a darker tone.

He knows what she is thinking, and he doesn't want her to go there.

"He's a bad guy, Skye. You're not."

There's a noise at the back of her throat, like she is still deciding whether to agree with him or argue the point.

"Might just be genetic," she lets out.

Coulson remembers Skye's face when they witnessed her father _show of force_. The horror wasn't directed at him but at herself.

"Skye."

"It doesn't matter. If I'm a monster."

She sounds protective of him. She sounds scary. She sounds like a force to be reckoned with.

"You're not a monster," he tells her. And it feels strange, like he was talking to himself, after so many months of trying to tell that to himself – you are not a monster. He never believed it. He wants Skye to believe it, desperatedly needs her to believe it.

He kisses her shoulder tenderly, tasting her humanity. It doesn't matter what is in her veins. She _is_ a force to be reckoned with, but for all the right motives.

"The reason I know what you were thinking before is because I'm thinking the same," Skye tells him. "That I might hurt you. That there's something inside me that is not right. Someone."

"Even if that were the case, even if there was something wrong with you, I believe you would fight it. And you would conquer it."

She shakes her head.

"It doesn't matter. Even if I have to become a monster – even if _he_. He needs to be stopped. And you –"

He watches her bite down some tears.

"Skye...?"

But then her face changes, and it's a bit unnerving, because it's real. She smiles at him, a bit sad, but a lot joyful at the same time. She can do that. And she can decide what's important and what isn't. She takes his hand in hers, traces the lines on his palm with her fingernails.

"If you were wondering if this is a good moment to tell me that you love me too, yeah, it totally is."

"You're so frustrating," he says, but it somehow comes out all soft and gentle and curiously admiring.

"And?"

He shrugs. "And what?"

"Don't play hard to get, Director. You _weren't_."

He gets a bit of performance anxiety (he is naked inside a young woman's bed and he is over fifty, maybe he shouldn't put it in those terms) because he wants her to believe him when he says it.

"And. Yes. I love you."

She arches her eyebrow. "Wow, that sounded so difficult."

"It's difficult," he admits. "It's going to be difficult."

Skye nods.

"Which is why..." she starts, gently letting go of his hand for a moment. "And this might not be very smooth of me but, do you want to stay the night?"

He could be happy spending more time in this room, yes.

He could be happy.

He laughs, lacing his fingers with hers again.


End file.
